Tip-toeing gingerly
over slippery rapids,
I remember the feel
of the slime
on the rocks
and the oily black surface
that was always alive.
Standing on the bank
summoning up the nerve
to jump,
(Mum – are you still watching?)
I remember the fear
of snags
and a deep
bottomless bottom.
Standing on the bridge
watching Mrs. Couch
float like a whale,
I remember the myriad lives
she saved each year.
And the one
she didn’t.
(they wouldn’t let me look)
Lying languidly
on a damp towel,
I remember the intensity
of pre-pubescent lust
and the lean summer boys
who smoked cigarettes
and weren’t very keen on kissing.
Leave a Reply